


in places deep

by blackkat



Series: we're catching bullets in our teeth [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: F/F, F/M, Family, Gen, Humor, Implied Past Relationships, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 09:53:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7528135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The picture is old and worn, colors a little faded and edges a little bent. It only takes one glance to recognize the man in the center of the photograph, even though Shisui has never actually seen him before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in places deep

**Author's Note:**

> Because the next chapter of reverse is currently being extracted from my crashed computer, here. Have a piece of crap I wrote on my phone in order to cope. Ramabear, for the record, this is still all your fault, okay?
> 
> As a warning, this contains a permanently injured person making light of their injury. My oldest brother does this exact bit, so I felt it was all right to include, but if it's going to offend you be aware.

“Oh,” Shisui's mother says, the first time he comes downstairs in his jounin uniform, still pulling on his gloves and settling the flak jacket on his shoulders. She hesitates, staring up at him, and then smiles brilliantly, the way she does so rarely nowadays. “Oh, Shisui. You look just like your great-grandfather.”

Shisui grins back, because it’s not the first time he’s heard it, but it _is_ the first time his mother has looked at him like she’s seen a ghost. “Like a crotchety old man?” he jokes. “Thanks, Mom.”

She shakes her head bemusedly, then turns away, weight falling a little too heavily on her bad leg for just a moment. She staggers, and Shisui feels completely justified in the burst of shunshin-speed he uses to bolt to her side and catch her. There's no acknowledgement beyond a brief pat of his hand, but Shisui doesn’t mind; Uchiha Chiyoha hates weakness in herself even more than most shinobi, and always at least mildly resents the reminder of it.

“I think I have a photo somewhere,” she says distractedly. “My father took it off the shrine after my mother died, but he wouldn’t have thrown it away. Shisui, check that black chest in the closet, please.”

“I was going to go train with Itachi,” Shisui protests, but does as he’s told anyway. Chiyoha has more energy than normal, and there's no way he won't indulge her, even if it means he has to spend the morning digging through dusty old boxes.

“Itachi is more than self-sufficient enough to survive a few hours without you.” His mother sounds amused as she carefully lowers herself to the ground, then flips back the top of another chest and starts riffling through it. “I swear, that boy is smarter than ninety percent of the clan elders, including his father. _Especially_ his father.”

It takes effort to restrain a snort. “Mom, you know it’s talking like that that makes Fugaku-sama actually physically cross the street to avoid you?”

Chiyoha isn’t nearly so reserved, and her scoff is loud and clear. She dumps a pile of folders on the floor beside her—Shisui winces, because he knows _exactly_ who’s going to have to clean that up—and spreads them out, shuffling through the pages. “Well, if Fugaku would stop keeping his head so far up his rear that he’s wearing his ass for a hat, I wouldn’t have to remind him of all the stupid things he’s doing. Honestly, he was a lot more pleasant when the Yondaime was alive; I always wondered about those two.”

After sixteen years, Shisui should be used to the truly ridiculous, absolutely scandalous things that come out of his mother’s mouth, but somehow she always manages to surprise him. “ _Mom_!” he squawks. “Don’t _say_ shit like that! They were both married!”

His mother laughs outright at that. “To Mikoto and Kushina, and if that isn’t a sign, I don’t know what is. You do remember that I was their ANBU squad captain? The number of times I walked in on those two girls in a compromising position…” She shakes her head, pulling a hard-bound album out of the box.

“I'm surprised you didn’t offer to join them,” Shisui mutters, deeply regretting the turn this conversation has taken. There is no way he’s ever going to be able to look at either Mikoto or Fugaku without thinking of this, and seeing as he has dinner at their house at least once a week courtesy of Itachi, that’s going to be something of a problem.

“Don’t be silly, your father was still around back then,” Chiyoha dismisses. “I hadn’t realized what an asshole he was yet. In retrospect, I really _should_ have asked if they were up for a fling.” She pauses, mouth turning down in a thoughtful frown, and then says, “Here. This is the one I was thinking of.”

Gratefully, Shisui abandons his halfhearted attempt to dig through the chest of trinkets and souvenirs, crawling across the floor—because what does he need with dignity? That’s what Itachi is for—and flopping on his stomach next to his mother. He peers over her thigh, trying to see, and she obligingly tilts the album.

The picture is old and worn, colors a little faded and edges a little bent. It only takes one glance to recognize the man in the center of the photograph, even though Shisui has never actually seen him before. The resemblance to himself is almost eerie, and only the highlights are different—Shisui's hair is a little curlier, his ancestor is a little broader in the shoulders, his eyes a little less angled. Everything else is much the same, though, right down to their heavy lashes and the two dimples in their right cheeks.

“Huh,” Shisui manages, unable to think of any words to do the weirdness justice.

His mother pinches his cheek like she knows what he’s thinking. “Yes, _oh_. I swear, you could be Kagami's double.”

Shisui's attention, however, is largely caught up in the other man in the photo. He doesn’t take any effort to identify either, if for a different reason—his face is carved on the mountain, after all, and Shisui knows the angles of it well. The Nidaime Hokage, tall and proud, is leaning into his ancestor with a small, secretive smirk, very nearly a smile, and his head is turned and ever so slightly bowed. Kagami is laughing, also turned towards his companion, and there's a light in dark eyes that Kagami recognizes all too well.

He’s always known that Uchiha Kagami was Tobirama’s beloved subordinate, favored beyond all others. It’s one of their family’s points of pride—they're loyal to Konoha above all, devoted and steadfast in a way that’s been passed down since the village’s founding. Even so, it’s one thing to know that, and another entirely to look at a picture of his ancestor and the Nidaime with their heads bent together like they're sharing secrets.

“Were they, uh—they look _really cozy_ , don’t they?” he asks. And how does that even _work_? If Kagami hadn’t married and had a kid, Shisui wouldn’t even exist to ask the question.

Chiyoha snorts, reaching down to ruffle his hair hard with her flesh hand. “Oh, is my little baby boy all grown up and asking about S-E-X now?” she mocks in a cutesy voice. “Oh no, my heart! I'm not ready!”

“ _Mom_ ,” Shisui complains, batting her hand away.

Predictably, she just cackles. “What? You're the one asking if your great-grandfather and Senju Tobirama were bumping uglies.” She masterfully ignores his beleaguered groan as she forges on. “I'm not sure. They do look cozy, but while a lot of people always speculated about them, Kagami did end up married to my grandmother, though that might have happened after Tobirama’s death. I can't recall.”

Shisui had forgotten that part, that the Nidaime sacrificed himself to let his team escape and Sarutobi take his place as Hokage. In his defense, history has never been his best subject. He considers for a moment, attempting to work out the timelines, but doesn’t come up with much. “I thought Kagami died young?”

His mother’s smile is both sad and proud, and she traces the edges of the photo gently. “Oh, he did. Your grandmother never even met him. A few weeks after his wife got pregnant, Kagami took a mission to the Mountains’ Graveyard, just west of Lightning Country, and disappeared. He never checked in with the family that hired him, just…walked out of a border town one day and was never seen again.” She shakes her head, takes a breath, and then closes the album with a decisive snap. “But that’s history, and we may as well let it rest.”

Long experience has Shisui staying where he is as she struggles to her feet, even if his first instinct is to jump up and help. He waits until she’s steady before rolling over with a theatrical groan and thumping his head lightly against the floor. “Can I go now?”

Chiyoha smirks at him. “Oh, indulge your old mother, brat. It won't hurt you to use what’s between your ears, you know. I'm aware how little exercise you give it as it is.”

“So cruel,” Shisui laments. He flails like an overturned turtle, waving his arms at her. “And now you're _abandoning_ me! Aren’t you even going to give me a hand?”

Half a second too late, he realizes his mistake. His mother’s expression turns to absolute glee, and she unstraps her prosthetic left hand and merrily dumps it in his lap. “Hand!” she says brightly, as if he’s not going to get the truly terrible joke without help.

“You're the _worst_ ,” Shisui informs her. “Oh my gods, the absolute _worst_. Why am I related to you. Why.”

His mother—being the sweet, reserved, retiring soul that she is—cackles in his face, sidesteps his grab for her ankle, and waves an imperious hand at the new mess in their living room. “And clean this up, brat. What were you, born in a barn?”

“Knowing you, probably!” Shisui calls after her retreating back, but it just makes her laugh. Grumbling, he pushes himself back to his feet and dusts off his uniform, then hesitates. The album is on top of the chest where Chiyoha dropped it, and it’s only the work of a second to flip it back open to the correct page. Shisui stares at the picture for a long moment, then carefully works it free of its brackets and slides it into an inner pocket of his flak jacket.

It’s just—curiosity, he tells himself. Just a shinobi’s nosiness and a descendant’s desire to know more about the ancestor he resembles.

It has nothing at all to do with the look in Kagami's eyes, or the expression on Tobirama’s face as they lean into each other and smile.


End file.
